


I'll Still Be Here

by InsaneJul



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneJul/pseuds/InsaneJul
Summary: Goodnight is plagued nightly by the voices of his past, and Billy wakes him up to comfort him.





	I'll Still Be Here

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my donation to the pile of hurt/comfort Goodnight Billy fics. I'm sure this idea has been done again and again, but hey, I'm gonna just pop another one out.

            The sounds of gunshots come from every direction, every angle. When you hear a gunshot, you’re supposed to drop, but Goody isn’t sure if that would even help. It seems like there is no escape from the sounds…and then…he isn’t being touched.

            He holds his rifle firmly in his hands. But his fingers just won’t pull the trigger, no matter how hard he tries. The gunshots fade into voices. Voices that are screaming, that won’t stop screaming. He can’t even drop the rifle to cover his ears. They are crying out in pain, crying out for help, crying for mothers, fathers, wives, children, sisters, brothers. Anyone. Anyone that might alleviate the pain. Goody drops to his knees and trembles but the rifle is glued to his hands and the screaming and the shots won’t stop. The smoke clears and even though the sounds don’t stop there is an old woman standing before him with fire in her eyes. She doesn’t say a word before her hands close around his throat.

            She’s strong, stronger than she ought to be, and he is shaking and his mouth is open but no sound comes out. His hands claw at the fingers locked around his neck but to no avail. She hisses his name, “Goodnight…Robicheaux!” He gasps for breath and kicks his legs. She doesn’t let up. “My husband…my sons…my grandsons…all dead! All dead!” He cannot defend himself. He cannot stop her. Part of him doesn’t even want to. “ALL YOUR FAULT!” he is trembling. He is dying. He is being shaken hard and the woman keeps screaming his name, over and over.

            Goodnight screams as he wakes up. He lashes out without looking and only opens his eyes to a shout of pain. “Jesus, Goody!”

            Billy is sitting across from him, a hand covering his face. “You almost cut my face open.”

            “What the hell are you doing?”

            “Waking you up. You were shaking, and yelling…”

            “I wasn’t—I was just—“

            “You were _dreaming._ You’re awake now,” Billy grabs onto Goody’s shoulder. It’s a hard grip, and it should hurt, but it doesn’t. It feels grounding.

            “I’m…you’re the only person here? I heard—voices—“

            “Hey, listen. There’s no voices. Just me. I’m here, okay?”

            “Just you.”

            “Just you and me.”

            “I don’t…I just…”

            Billy stares Goody down. “Do you want me to hit you?”

            “Hit me? No! I was just getting…goddamn strangled…”

            “You weren’t!” Billy looks angry. Like he might actually hit him. “You were _dreaming_!”

            Goody rubs his face. He is finally here—finally back, in the shed they were sleeping in. “There are no voices.”

            “No, that’s not it…” Billy moves closer. His hand goes slack, slides up and down Goody’s arm. “There _are_ voices. They’re in your head, but they’re still there. You just need to learn how not to listen—how not to believe them.”

            “But they’re right, Billy…they’re right. All those men I killed…all the families I destroyed…and they know it was me. They _know_ …and _I_ know.”

            “ _I_ know, Goody…those voices…they play on the terrible things you believe. The hardest lies to spot are the ones that have some truth in them. All those voices are _yours_ , but they make you think the world is saying what’s in your mind. It’s not!”

            “How can you say that?” Goody is finding it harder to hold back the tears. He is trembling again, or maybe he never stopped. Billy is getting blurry and hard to focus on. Everything is shaky and _wrong._ The world around him isn’t real—his dream—he must still be on the battlefield, he can feel the bulge of a gun in his pocket, even though he’s supposed to be sleeping. “How can you—think of all the people who know my name—who’s to say they don’t?”

            “Because _I_ don’t. Goody, I _know_ you. You took mercy on me—on countless others—you corrected your path. I can’t think of any man I respect more. The fact that it haunts you isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s the proof to me that you understand what you’ve done and you regret it. It won’t be easy, but you can move past it. You _have to._ ”

            “If I weren’t here, so many men would still be alive.”

            “And what about me? I’d probably be dead by now if it weren’t for you.”

            Goody chuckles a little at that. “Are you kidding me? You’d be fine.”

            “Maybe,” Billy smirks at him. “But the same thing is true about what you said—you don’t know for sure that you’ve ruined anything. You don’t know for sure what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been sent after me—and that’s the point.”

            “What point?”

            “We can’t change the past, Goody…” Billy’s eyes finally soften, and he reaches up to cup Goody’s face. “We can only change the future. We can only learn to tolerate our regrets by making our lives better. And we have, haven’t we?”

            “Well…I suppose…you’re still here.” 

            “So?”

            “That makes my life infinitely better.”

            Billy looks like he might choke. Goody smirks and sits up fully, closing a good amount of the distance between them.

            “I’m just…trying to repay you for what you did for me.”

            “You made yourself a little irreplaceable.”

            The Asian man turns away, pulling his hands away from Goody. “I want to see you happy.”

            “I don’t even know what that looks like.”

            “Then I’ll find it. And I’ll show you.”

            “Just like that, huh?”

            “Have you ever seen me fail?”

            Goody smiles fondly. “No, I haven’t.”

            “Good to see you’re coming back to yourself.”

            “If I go back to sleep, I’ll go back there, Billy.”

            “No, you won’t. Not right now. And if you do, I’ll still be here and I’ll wake you up again. I’ll stay awake all night if I have to.”

            “Billy…” Goody lies back down but doesn’t break eye contact. “you don’t really have to do anything for me.”

            “Well…I want to.”

            “Why would anyone want to do anything kind for me?”

            “Maybe,” Billy lay down across from his partner, facing him, gradually decreasing distance. “Because I think you deserve it.”

            “I don’t deserve anything.”

            “Neither do I. Maybe the only thing we deserve is each other.”

            And with that, Goody blinked, opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but Billy took the plunge and kissed him. Kissed him very, very lightly, and he didn’t linger. He pulled back and looked directly into Goody’s eyes, searching for a rejection. Not finding one, he kissed Goody again, longer this time, then pulled him closer until the white man’s head was resting somewhere in the crook of his neck.

            “You’ll go back there, Goody, we can’t pretend you won’t. But I’ll be here—I’ll always be here.”

            “Thank—thank you.”

            The words weren’t enough for what Billy had done for him, what he was _willing_ to do for him, but they were all Goodnight Robicheaux had. And if Billy was willing to kiss him again—well, that was something different. Love can’t take away the problems, but it does make them easier to bear. And Goodnight knew, at that moment, that even though the nightmares would keep coming, he wasn’t alone.

            “Goodnight, Robicheaux.”

            “Goodnight, Billy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I couldn't resist the double pun at the end. If you're crying, call my lawyer.


End file.
